Road Dust
by Fictatious
Summary: 1920- In the wake of the First World War, liquor is scarce but guns and automobiles are easy to come by. This is the age of the motorized bandit.  Tornshipping smut and very little else
1. Boredom

1920

There was a crack in the ceiling. It looked like it had been plastered and painted over multiple times but continued to find its way through. Like the room above was slowly, slowly trying to collapse into this one. Maybe it would cave in right now as Ryou was watching it. He waited.

The ceiling stayed where it was.

He turned his head to look at the clock on the wall. It was almost five. Soon the bank would close, and after that, all the employees would go home and the day's work would be over. His eyes flicked from the clock to Bakura, perched in the window, a pair of binoculars and a small camera hung around his neck, scribbling in a notebook. Ryou felt that this had been an _exceptionally_ boring day. Who would have thought that crime could be so boring? The tellers inside the bank were probably having more fun counting pennies than Ryou was, laying silent and idle on the bed of a cheap hotel room overlooking its front doors.

It was sensible, of course, but it wasn't what Ryou had pictured. When he used to read about bank robberies in the newspaper, it had always seemed to be the kind of thing that happened suddenly and without warning. Of course, that was the idea. For the people inside the bank, it _did_ happen suddenly and without warning, but apparently for the bandits –these ones, anyway- it was meticulously planned ahead of time. The building was quietly examined from the outside and inside, sketches were made, with all exits and obstacles marked out, and poured over and discussed for hours. Days were spent determining the identities of every bank employee and writing a detailed list of their daily schedules and regular activities.

All of this meant that the bandits were very busy doing next to nothing and Ryou was bored out of his mind. He needed a new book. He had finished reading his novel hours ago and been left with no alternative entertainment. Tomorrow he'd take some money and go buy a few new books from the store on the corner. The new Porter book should be out now. He was too old for her books, but they remained a guilty pleasure. Not that reading books written for little girls had ever been anything but a guilty pleasure.

Ryou had just never been able to find much interest in the western adventure books his classmates had read, with cowboys and Indians and bandits. Except for the romantic ones his mother had liked. Ryou sighed; he would have made a much better girl. God must have put his paperwork in the wrong basket.

The light hitting Ryou's eyelids dimmed as he felt hair brush his face and the mattress sink just left of his head. His eyes fluttered open to meet Bakura's, hovering over him, a hand pressed down against the bed to support himself. "Bored?" Bakura asked softly, the corners of his lips curled up slightly.

"Yes," Ryou agreed, feeling heat flushing his cheeks.

Bakura bent lower over him, bringing their lips together, softly at first, before the kiss grew gradually more insistent and Bakura shifted, climbing on top of Ryou and crouching over him so that Ryou was caged in, helpless beneath his captor. Ryou lifted his arms to drape around Bakura's neck, sighing into the kiss and submitting to the hands that were slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Bakura's fingers fanned out over his bare chest as lips and teeth moved to Ryou's ear, gently nibbling at the curve while Ryou's breath grew more labored.

Bakura's tongue was languidly tracing the line of Ryou's jaw when the door opened and Malik came striding through, stripping off a wool jacket as he announced his presence. "Jesus _Christ_ its cold out there!" he groused. "Tomorrow you're- You son of a _bitch!_" He cast a sulking glare as Bakura started laughing, dropping his head down next to Ryou's shoulder and shaking with mirth. "Well isn't that just _Jake!_" Malik spat, crossing his arms disapprovingly. "I've been freezing my God-damned _tail_ off and you're up here cashing in!"

Bakura lifted his head a little, speaking through a smirk of barely contained laughter. "Ryou 'as bored," he explained.

"Says _you!_" Malik scowled.

"You look cold," Bakura noted, sitting up, his legs straddling Ryou's thighs.

"No, _really?_"

"So why'n't we get a damn _fire_ goin' already!" Bakura grinned and Ryou could see almost all of his teeth through it.

Malik raised his eyebrow and sniffed, before turning his head sharply away. "Bank's _closed_, in case you hadn't _noticed_."

This banter could last for hours, and entertaining as it could be at times, Ryou's patience was waning. He dove in. "Then we'll just have to work with the cash you've got on you." Ryou held out his arms in Malik's direction. Bakura's eyes returned their focus to Ryou and his mouth formed a feral curve. Malik glanced back, probably still wanting to be a pill, but a smirk was tugging at the corner of his lips. One more push to make him lose interest in his game of peevishness. "I'm _boooored_," Ryou whined.

That sealed it. Ryou could see the glint in Malik's eye as he dropped his arms and turned back around, before finally moving toward the bed. "Come to think of it, a fire _would_ be nice," he murmured, perching on the edge of the bed and reaching a hand out to run through Ryou's hair.

Ryou winced at the icy touch of Malik's fingers grazing his cheek. "Oof! You _are_ cold!" he squealed.

"Well that ain't no good," Bakura said, grabbing Malik's wrists and pulling the frozen hands up under his own shirt. Bakura didn't even flinch at the chilled digits meeting his skin. Malik sighed, looking reluctantly grateful as he pressed his hands against Bakura's belly. Bakura relinquished Malik's wrists to instead grab hold of his tie and reel him in. "You look pale," he whispered.

"Compared to _you?_" Malik scoffed through a smirk.

Bakura yanked on the tie, dragging Malik's mouth to his own and claiming it. Ryou watched the war waged between their conjoined lips. It was like two rutting bucks locking antlers and wrestling for dominance. Ryou wondered hazily whether he was the doe they were fighting over, or a yearling with no hope of competing. They broke apart so that Malik could try to tear Bakura's shirt off over his head, which worked, except that his wrists were still caught in the inside-out sleeves. After some irritated fumbling, the shirt finally made its way to the floor while Malik shrugged out of his suspenders and started fussing at his own shirt.

Once exposed, Bakura attacked Malik's neck, biting without any of the gentleness he'd afforded Ryou. Malik closed his eyes and tilted his head back, making a growling sound that came from deep in his throat. After a few seconds, his eyes cracked open and Ryou could see that their focus was directed toward him. Malik pushed Bakura away and descended on Ryou, knocking Bakura from his previous perch and swooping down to capture Ryou's mouth with his own, a hand landing just to the side of Ryou's head to prevent devastating collision.

Ryou tilted his head into the kiss and shivered as Malik's free hand slid up his ribs, still cool, but not unpleasantly so. Ryou caught the front of Malik's waistband and clumsily tugged at the buttons even as he could feel hands coming in from the side Malik had thrown Bakura to, in order to give Ryou's buttons the same treatment. Malik's lips retreated abruptly, leaving Ryou flushed and panting as two sets of hands worked together to drag his trousers off and peel away his shorts. Malik scrambled to regain his previous position before Bakura could usurp Ryou's attention, and fell forward, slamming down on top of Ryou when his own trousers were yanked from his legs.

Malik cursed and struggled to get his elbows under him and find Ryou's mouth again. His tongue assaulted every hidden surface of Ryou's mouth as Ryou wrapped his arms around Malik's shoulders and reciprocated with small, teasing licks. Their mouths came apart with a sound almost like a suction when Malik's head suddenly shot up and started to turn, his eyes wide and startled. "Wait- you're-" he started and then cut off with a sound somewhere between a gasp and a yelp. He buried his face in the pillow next to Ryou's head, his hands balling up in the sheets and body shaking.

Ryou stared over his trembling shoulder to see Bakura wearing a grin of wicked glee. Malik kept his face buried in the pillow but his arms moved in, sliding under Ryou and hugging them tightly together. His body was tense and resistant to Bakura's first thrusts, but as Bakura leaned lower over Malik's back, eyelids sliding halfway closed, and panted softly in time with his movements, Ryou could feel the muscles in Malik's shoulders loosening and his body starting to move in more amiable response to Bakura's undulations.

And just as Malik had started to pant lustily, his head lifted a little from the pillow and breath feathering out against Ryou's neck, Bakura drew back and moved away again, inspiring a rapid torrent of colorful curses, insults and threats to shoot out of Malik's mouth. He next appeared at their side, grabbing Malik's shoulder and shoving it, rolling him to the side, Ryou was pulled along with him, still held fast against Malik's chest. Malik continued to spit a few more curses as Bakura entirely ignored him, his mouth, lips, teeth, tongue, gently latching onto Ryou's neck as a hand trailed up his inner thigh from behind.

Ryou shivered and lifted his leg up, hooking it over Malik's hip and keening softly as a finger pressed into him. Bakura had said once, _God_ _damn_, _I_ _love_ _the_ _sounds_ _you_ _make_, and so Ryou was unabashed and unrestrained in his mewling as fingers, first one, then more, felt around inside of him and wet kisses were peppered over his shoulder. Malik had given up on his irate swearing in favor of exploring the underside of Ryou's jaw while he slipped a hand between them and aligned their erections, stroking both of them together.

The fingers withdrew, leaving behind a feeling of need so strong it was like a physical ache. Ryou was slightly puzzled to find himself being pulled upright then, and it seemed that his assailants had managed to synchronize their objectives again as two pairs of arms collaborated to hoist him up, first onto his knees and then swept right off of them, hands hitching up under his thighs and elevating him above the bed. Ryou gripped Malik's shoulders a little tighter and was denied the ability to glance around in confusion as Malik recaptured his mouth.

The hands supporting Ryou's thighs spread him a little wider and then he was being entered and he wasn't entirely sure by whom for an unreasonably long period of time. As Ryou came to terms with the odd verticality of this evening's proceedings, he was able to puzzle out that it Bakura thrusting smoothly in and out of him from behind, while Malik was supporting and suspending most of his weight, as well as keeping Ryou's attention split, to hold him in a state of dazed confusion. It was always faintly dazzling when they worked in flawless tandem, without any apparent communication, all the more so when the subject of their partnership was _Ryou_.

Malik gave Ryou back full use of his mouth so that he could pant wantonly, every breath accompanied by a little blossom of voice that didn't sound entirely unlike a hiccup. Ryou clung to Malik's shoulders as though his life hung in the balance, any semblance of rational thought long forgotten. He threw back his head and heard a delirious wail spilling from his own lips as he climaxed. Bakura swore breathlessly next to Ryou's ear and, a few seconds later, Ryou shivered, despite the warmth of the feeling, as he felt Bakura's release pervade him.

Ryou almost whined in protest at how quickly Bakura made his exit, before he was supplanted by Malik's presence. Hands shifted, Bakura taking Ryou's weight as Malik plunged into him, the incursion lasting just a handful of thrusts before Malik shuddered in surrender and Ryou let out a faint moan. A few weeks ago, he'd professed to enjoying the sensation of being filled, and since then he'd noticed the bandits making an effort to give him double-servings. It was just another new facet to this cabaret of sin Ryou had let himself get sucked into.

Ryou closed his eyes again and let his head fall back, leaning against Bakura's shoulder as he panted, pressed between their bodies. He could feel Malik's face near his neck, breath warming and cooling his skin on the exhales and inhales. Bakura was nuzzling his ear. Ryou knew that he was going to hell, and maybe he'd always been bound for it; all the bandits had done by involving him in their deviant behavior was help to insure that Ryou would at least be getting his money's worth for his damned soul.

They shifted; Bakura sank down to the bed and Ryou found himself sitting in the bandit's lap when he cracked his eyes open and lifted his head. He lazily watched Malik pull back the blankets and crawl underneath before looking back up at Ryou and holding out his arms in a similar gesture to the one Ryou had made earlier. "Come here," he called.

Ryou felt himself smiling and shifted forward as Bakura's arms unwrapped themselves from around him, making his way to the head of the bed and joining Malik under the covers. He closed his eyes again as he settled down, feeling Bakura following him and completing the capsule of warmth beneath the layers of wool and linen. Ryou sighed and let himself be tugged into Malik's arms again and held there. He listened to the flick of a lighter; he could feel cool air on the back of his shoulders as Bakura was curled forward, half sitting up to light his cigarette.

"Hey." Malik called, lifting his head slightly. "Gimme," he demanded in a soft, tired voice.

Bakura snorted. "How 'bout a 'please,' ya no-class dinge," he muttered even as he must have held out the cigarette. Malik propped himself up slightly and leaned over Ryou. Ryou chewed on his lip, wondering if any ashes would drop on his face. Would they still be hot? None did. Malik dropped back down into the pillow, exhaling slowly.

Malik's arms enfolded Ryou again and he sighed. There was a long and comfortable silence and Ryou might have begun to doze off, because he started very slightly when Malik lifted his head again. "Bakura, go make yourself useful and get us some supper," he mumbled.

In response, he received another snort. "Ryou s'one ain't done nothin' today. Why ain't ya sendin' him?" Bakura demanded.

"Ryou's keeping me warm," Malik replied, nuzzling Ryou's temple.

"Oh, _well_," Bakura let out a sarcastic puff. "Can't be takin' the prettiest blanket off the bed then, can I?" Ryou shivered, cool air assaulting his back as Bakura brushed back the covers and pushed himself out of bed. "Fine. I'll go find something to eat."

"Eat, not drink," Malik reminded in a chastising tone.

"I _said_ eat!" Bakura snapped. He commenced grumbling as he shuffled around alongside the bed. "Uppity son of a bitch, 'spectin' me to do everything... What the hell d'you do with my shirt, Malik?" Ryou could feel Malik shake with suppressed laughter. "I'm takin' yours."

"What? _No_," Malik protested, pushing himself up slightly. "Wear your _own_ damn shirt."

"I can't find it," Bakura scoffed. "Unless you gonna come out here and look, I'm takin' this one."

"It's _your_ shirt, find it yourself!" Malik snapped.

"_You_ threw it."

"Take that _off!_"

"You gonna get up and _make_ me?" Bakura challenged. There was a momentary pause and then Malik flopped back down into the pillow with an irritable sigh. "That's what I _thought_," Bakura muttered. There was more shuffling from his direction and then another annoyed snort. "Damn it, m'shoe's under the bed..."

Ryou started to laugh, but it came out as more of a sigh. Malik's fingers were slowly combing through his hair and lulling him into complacent fatigue. "Are you still here?" Malik asked sarcastically over Ryou's head.

"I'm _goin__'__!_" Bakura snarled. "Christ Almighty!"

The door closed behind him, casting the room into a quiet in which Ryou could hear the beating of Malik's heart and his own. A few minutes passed, and Ryou was again torn from the brink of sleep by Malik's voice. "You really okay to drive the car, baby?" he asked softly.

"I said I was," Ryou mumbled next to his neck.

"You know this is going to make you a full accomplice," he reminded. "No going back after that."

"Thought you'd be more worried about me stalling the engine," Ryou said with a tired smirk.

"I'm worried about that too," Malik agreed with a soft chuckle.

"I can do it," Ryou whispered. "I don't want to go back. I want to go with you."

He felt Malik's chest expand and sink back in a sigh, and then a gentle kiss brushed Ryou's forehead. "If you want to follow us to hell, I don't mind the company," Malik breathed. Ryou felt himself smiling.

888

888

So this 'verse kind of seems like it came out of nowhere. I think it's because I've been hearing Lay Me Down (Dirty Heads) soooo much on the radio the past couple months. It puts me in mind of motorized bandits. Although, realistically, there's no mentions in the song to indicate a period of time and it's more likely taking place in the 'old west' being that that has a lot more pop-culture precedence, but still, my mind goes to motorized bandits of the 1920s because tommy-guns and three piece suits pleases my aesthetic senses so much better.

This fic is dedicated to Lady Blackwell, who has offered me a job as her pet pornographer as soon as she becomes a rich doctor-lady. I shall sleep at the foot of her bed, eat from a bowl with my name on it, and write her tornshipping smut all day long.

So, as for the setting and character quirks, probably the quirk that stood out the most in this fic was Bakura speaking in dialect; for this 'verse, Bakura is hill-people, born and raised in the Appalachian Mountains of eastern Kentucky. This region was largely populated by 'Scotch-Irish' immigrants back in the day and has a long-standing tradition of contempt for the law, moonshine, and dangerously weird religious practices (playing with snakes and drinking tinctures of strychnine). For those interested, Malik was born in DC (son of the Egyptian ambassador) and Ryou is from a small town in Georgia. NOW THEY ROB BANKS!

So, I'm not calling this fic _finished_ but I'm not promising more of it either. If and as I continue this, it'll be in disjointed drabbles and no particular order. And it'll probably mostly be smut, because Lady Blackwell's been spoiling for some tornshipping sex and I may have made some vague promises to deliver.

Oh, and on old-timey slang, the references to money in the banter at the beginning refer to make-outs. And Bakura referred to Malik by a racial slur at one point in there, Bakura doesn't have any particular problem with Malik's skin, mostly he just likes to use slurs from time to time because it pisses off Malik. Malik in turn calls him a dumb, ugly hillbilly.


	2. Rum Run

"Malik, get in the back."

Malik turned a scathing glare on Bakura. "_No_," he growled.

Bakura returned his glare between glances at the narrow road ahead of them. "Do you _want_ to get shot?" he demanded. Malik's only response was to narrow his eyes a little more. "Then _get_in the _back_ and take off your _jacket_," Bakura repeated.

Begrudgingly, Malik turned and climbed over the seat, muttering under his breath.

"Ryou, you come up here," Bakura called over his shoulder.

Ryou frowned softly, looking between him and Malik, who was now quietly fuming in the corner. "Do it," Malik sulked, glaring at the back of the seat. Hesitantly, Ryou clamored over into the passenger's seat.

"Okay," Bakura said quietly, his eyes trained on the winding, dirt road they were following up through the hills. "Ryou, you're my brother, all right?"

"Okay," Ryou agreed, nodding, feeling apprehensive at the need for a cover-story when they weren't planning any robberies.

"You're gonna stay in the car with Malik. Y'ain't gonna get out and y'ain't gonna talk to nobody, got it?"

Ryou nodded. "Got it," he mumbled. He could hear Malik snort from the back seat.

Dense forest finally gave way to a small clearing with a structure that could be described as little more than a shack seated to one side of it. Bakura parked the car just as a large man came out to stand on the porch, glaring suspiciously at them. Ryou could see a curtain pull back from the inside of a small window and a plain woman with long, straight hair peer out of it. Bakura walked around the car and called a greeting to the man on the porch, approaching slowly as he explained himself in vague terms. His voice dropped lower as he drew near the building and the large man stepped down from the porch and shook his hand.

As Ryou watched the inaudible conversation unfold, Bakura produced a roll of bills from his coat-pocket, showing it to the man briefly before stowing it away again. A few more minutes passed in quiet deliberation before the man turned, ascending the porch, and disappeared back into his house. "...What's happening?" Ryou whispered.

"Time to inspect the wares," Malik replied softly.

The man returned with a bottle of liquid, clear as spring-water, and handed it to Bakura, who turned the bottle around and slapped the bottom against the heal of his hand, examining the contents carefully. He handed the bottle back to the man with a dissatisfied frown. Ryou was so busy watching the transaction, he didn't hear the crunch of dried leaves until Malik hissed behind him, "_Ryou_."

Ryou turned his head to find himself face to face with a youth who couldn't have been much older than himself. "Hey there, honey," the youth greeted, grinning at him with tobacco yellowed teeth. "What's yer name?" Ryou stared at him blankly for a few seconds, not really sure whether to be shocked or bewildered. The youth smiled lop-sidedly and continued. "You from 'round here? Down in town? You one of them flappers? Cut yer hair short an' the like?"

Malik cleared his throat and the youth turned a contemptuous glare on him. "What're _you_ lookin' at, boy?"

Malik glared right back. When he opened his mouth, a nearly unrecognizable voice came out of it. "Mister McCoy ain't gonna like you talkin' to his _brother_ that way," he growled and Ryou resisted the urge to stare at him, it seemed almost inconceivable for Malik's enunciation to be anything short of perfect.

The youth looked startled. He took a step closer to the car so that he could look over the top of the door and take note of Ryou's clothing. A look of intense embarrassment slowly overtook his features and his face seemed unable to decide whether to flush or pale.

"_Hey!_" Bakura's voice broke through the awkward silence and Ryou glanced up to see him looking back in their direction. "You best get away from there, son, 'less you fixin' for a lickin'!" Bakura shouted, glaring at the youth.

"I, uh," the youth faltered.

"Davie, you _get!_" the man from the house ordered sternly and the youth scampered out of sight again.

Bakura crossed his arms, turning his attention back to the man. "Now you and I both know you got better'n this coffin varnish stashed away," Bakura accused, giving the man a steady, serious look. "I ain't gonna _stand_ here and let you play me for some lowland _idiot_. I came here for some _real_ busthead and I ain't payin' a _nickel_ for _this_ shit." He gestured disdainfully at the bottle in the man's hand.

The man looked annoyed for a moment, then he started laughing good-naturedly. "All right, all right, you win," he said. "I can see yer a man who knows his onions. I'll find some'n else to take this panther piss of my hands." The man disappeared into the house once more and returned with a bottle that looked exactly like the first one as far as Ryou could tell. "Here's the _special__reserve_," he said, handing the (apparently new) bottle to Bakura.

Bakura slapped the heel of his hand against this bottle like he'd done with the last one, examining something that may as well have been invisible. He pried out the cork and sniffed at the contents of the bottle, and then smiled. "Ah, now that's more like it," he said appreciatively.

The man chuckled. "How much you fixin' to buy? I ain't got a lot here right now 'cause I wasn't expectin' you."

"Five of these," Bakura answered, pushing the cork back into the bottle and giving it a shake.

The main raised an eyebrow. "That's it?" he asked, looking slightly irritated.

"Personal consumption." Bakura shrugged. "If they're all this quality, I'll give you fifty rubes for 'em."

The man's face lit up again. "Sure are! You wait right there!" He disappeared into the house again and this time when he immerged, he was carrying four more bottles of equal size and watery clearness to the first. He walked over to the car with Bakura, his tone chatty as he passed the bottles one by one to Bakura, who, after giving each of them a slap, passed them through the window to Ryou. "You're a man of taste, I can tell! Y'all can come on back any time and I'll have some _special__reserve_ waiting for you."

"Well I recon that's mighty kind of you, sir," Bakura said, giving the man a nod and a grin. "Pleasure doing business with you." He held out his hand and the large man shook it, before returning to his porch as Bakura rounded the car and climbed back into the driver's seat. "And away we go," he murmured, cranking over the engine.

A few miles down the road, Malik clamored over the back of the seat, displacing Ryou momentarily before pulling him into his lap. Malik leaned his cheek against Ryou's shoulder as he glared out into the woods. "I hate the hills," he muttered.

"Aw, did that brat talk down to you, Malik?" Bakura simpered sarcastically.

"Yeah, after he tried to pick up the pretty _girl_ in the car," Malik snorted, his arms tightening around Ryou's waist.

Bakura laughed. "He's lucky you di'n't tell on him. Wouldn't want his old man havin' to beat the devils out of his hide."

"Devils?" Ryou asked quietly.

"_In__my__name__shall__they__cast__out__devils_," Bakura said in a recitative voice. "It just makes sense to blame anythin' you don't like on devils, seein' as the preacher can get rid of 'em for ya." He snorted. "Never did me no good though. That old man slappin' my head and screamin' at me..." He sighed and leaned an arm against the window frame. "'Til they 'ventually thought it would do better to cast my devils out with a shotgun."

Ryou frowned softly, leaning into Malik's embrace as he contemplated Bakura's words. "Why did they do that?"

"Hm?" Bakura looked almost startled, as though he'd drifted off somewhere far away. "Oh," he shrugged and made a sound through his teeth. "'Cause Ray told the preacher I was possessed by Satan and I _forced_ him to sin against God." Bakura scowled darkly. "I di'n't force him to do _nothin__'_, lyin' son of a bitch."

"Well maybe you shouldn't have fucked your _cousin_," Malik suggested in a bored tone and Ryou cringed inwardly. He'd really rather not they start fighting while Bakura was _driving_.

"_Third_ cousin, practically not even a relation. An' _shut_ up," Bakura snapped, glaring at the road ahead of them. Bakura didn't seem particularly interested in escalating the argument, which both relieved and worried Ryou.

000

000

Oh, jeeze, sorry for throwing social-issues at you without even having the decency to give you any smutty pay-off. So, to run down the list of things that should probably be noted… Please bear in mind that that little flash of racism is meant to reflect the period and not the regional attitudes as they exist in this day and age; although, to be honest, that was pretty mild, which I think is in large part because the boy maybe hasn't seen somebody not-white more than once or twice in his life, if ever, and isn't entirely sure on how to approach the issue, other than knowing that he probably shouldn't take any crap from a 'colored' person. Also, why Bakura was slapping bottles- he was testing the alcohol content. If you've ever done any sort of construction or home improvement work or just putting up a shelf, you've probably used a liquid-level, that little tube with a bubble in it. You know how there's just *one* bubble, even if you shake it? That's because it's in pretty much pure alcohol. The more water is present, the more and the smaller the bubbles will be when you shake a bottle of alcohol.

And Ryou's hair, Davie mentioned it being short here, and that's because I can not think of any logical reason that Ryou would have long hair in this verse. He was a decent and law abiding citizen before he met these hooligans and he spent quite a lot of his time trying not to stand out. At this point, he's stopped using palmade (men pretty much all slick their hair back in this era) and his hair has grown out a tiny bit, so it ends up looking about chin-length and fluffy, which comes off as pretty feminine. Bakura still has long hair, mostly out of defiance toward his upbringing, which brings us into the Church of God With Signs. The verse that Bakura quoted is part of the passage on which the prevalent religion in Appalachia is based. They're sometimes called 'holy rollers' (derogatory) or 'snake-handlers' because a common practice (before a lot of laws started getting passed against it around the 50s) is handling venomous snakes to demonstrate that your faith is so strong you won't be bitten (because snakes are incarnations of devils), and 'holy roller' refers to the sect's practice of speaking in tongues (transing). The Church of God With Signs (which has no centralized leadership, each parish is autonomous) is on the extreme end of conservative; I'm talking women not being allowed to wear pants or cut their hair (ever, having bangs is a sin, I'm informed by a former member) and conversely, for men, their hair is supposed to always be cropped very short. Bakura is deeply resentful of religion in general and the Church of God With Signs in particular, but it has still shaped a lot of the way he thinks and goes about things, and a lot of his deliberate habits are in direct reaction and defiance of his upbringing (and he likes snakes).

Oh, and I nearly forgot; you probably noticed that I gave Bakura a surname in there. How did I come by 'McCoy'? No, not from Star Trek. The McCoys are one of the most famous families of Appalachia, located in north-east Kentucky, right across the state boarder from the Hatfields. That Hatfield-McCoy feud was bigger and more violent in legend than reality, but it's one of those little anecdotes of American history that we like to reference now and again; they're our Montagues and Capulets.

And that's a nice, wordy, know-it-all author's note I've written for you. It's practically longer than the chapter, yeesh. Soooo, I guess that's about it. I'll get some more smut in here for the next chapter. I'm planning something really adrenaline charged and gratuitous for you, hold tight.


End file.
